


Art of Self-Sacrifice

by foreveryoungins



Series: A transformation of sacrifice [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Artist AU, Depression, Gen, M/M, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreveryoungins/pseuds/foreveryoungins
Summary: “The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.”  -T.S. Eliot





	

**Author's Note:**

> I posted the original of this story on 8/13/15. I've progressed so much as a writer and a person over the last that I felt not revisiting this would be an injustice. So here's version two. It's the same story, but rewritten to show my progress. You can read the original version in the first part of the series.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Kenma.”

He ignored the comment and drug his brush across the canvas. The brush was snatched from his hand. Kenma continued his motions even without it. The color, texture, composition, emotion, it was already in his head.

“Kenma, are you even listening to me?”

He paused his strokes, answering in silence.

“Talk to me,” the voice softened, “please?”

Kenma turned from the painting. Next to him, Kuro, and on his face, heaviness. Heaviness in the bags under his eyes, in the edges of his mouth, and in his brow. A kind of weighted burden resulting from the exhaustion of all efforts.

Kuro was never one to give in, though. He looked up, glanced to Kenma, and let out a sigh, “Okay, I’ll be patient.” He shifted closer to Kenma’s painting. The surface swirled in a tangle of muted grays, shady blues, and dashes of black. 

“I like this one, It’s pretty.” Kuro looked over, “What’s it about?”

 _It’s me_ , Kenma thought. The painting was him: a melancholy mess, toned down colors with peeks of black here and there. His vague emotions mirrored that of a nettle; they only appeared toned down and harmless. Most of all, his painting wasn’t pretty— _he_ wasn’t pretty.

Kuro shrugged, unfazed by the lack of response, “You know, I don’t tell you this enough,” he ran a hand through his hair, “but, uh, thanks for letting me stick around. I know it’s all been pretty hard on you.”

Kenma’s face burned; even through the raging blush, he managed to glare at Kuro. 

“Don’t say things unnecessarily. It’s embarrassing.”

“Nice to see you too, Kenma,” Kuro said with a cheeky grin.

\--------------------

Critics gawked at the display, comments of praise rolled off their tongues.

Kuro and Kenma watched from the farthest corner of the room.

“They really like it this time,” Kuro glanced across the room.

Kenma blinked.

“They’re saying it’s beautiful, and I think they couldn’t be more right. But, I also think there’s something more to it that’s even more beautiful. I just can’t quite put a name to it.”

Kenma watched him from the corner of his eye. Kuro scrubbed his chin in thought.

Kuro directed a curious glance his way, “What did you say it was about? I don’t know if you ever told me.”

Kenma took a moment to consider his response. He could tell Kuro and risk discomfort for himself or keep quiet and lead Kuro to think he was in a silent stretch for the day.

Kuro was more important than that.

Kenma’s cheeks flamed as he choked out breathlessly, “ _Me._ ”

The confession rushed heat through his veins. Kenma was not one to take compliments well, and with the onslaught of beautiful’s used to describe his painting, he was starting to regret his decisions today.

He was infinitely embarrassed, that much was clear, but Kenma also felt a deep frustration. He painted himself on that canvas, not something beautiful. He dumped a bucket of his dull soul on it so others could recognize that he was not some great individual. Kenma wanted people to understand that he was nothing special. Maybe that would never be the case with Kuro, but at least he could convince everyone else.

Kuro chuckled and bumped Kenma with his shoulder, “Makes sense.”

Kenma shook his hair in front of his eyes, grumbling embarrassed complaints.

\--------------------

He blinked away the tears that caught on Kuro’s chest.

“You’re allowed to cry, Kenma.” 

He shook his head, burrowing into Kuro’s sweatshirt.

“Sometimes you don’t even need a reason to cry,” Kuro pet Kenma’s hair. “All the sudden, you’ll feel the urge, and you have to let it out. So it’s okay, it happens.”

The comment was well-intentioned, and Kenma saw Kuro’s approval. He was always encouraging Kenma to show his emotions, to express himself even if it was a subtle change in posture or in the line of his mouth. Anything to get Kenma to open up. He told Kenma that he wouldn’t be left alone to tough out down spells.

Kenma didn’t like to show emotion, though. It was troublesome.

“It’s really hard to sit through this, Kenma. You’re hurting, but I don’t know how to help. It scares me.” 

Inside, Kenma’s chest clenched. This was the exact reason he made it a goal to not show emotion. Whenever he did, it hurt Kuro.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Kuro wrapped his arms around him, “Please don’t apologize, I know this isn’t you.”

The apartment fell silent aside from Kenma’s muted sobs.

\--------------------

Kuro spoke over his shoulder from the kitchen, “What’s it this time?”

“Crowded by nothing” Kenma answered, tilting his head at the image. 

“Care to explain?”

Kenma opened his mouth. When nothing came out, he sucked in a breath.

After a moment, Kuro appeared at his side, “It’s okay. You don’t have to push yourself too hard.” 

Kenma shook his head. It felt like hands gripped his throat, squeezed his lungs.

“Don’t worry, okay? I know it’s hard for you.”

“B-but!” Kenma’s body lurched. 

He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder and handful of air found its way to his lungs; his throat relaxed for a moment.

“ _It’showIfeel_ ,” he squeezed the words into his window of opportunity.

Thick silence followed. 

Then Kuro spoke.

“Thank you.” He set his chin atop Kenma’s head, “Thanks for sharing.”

\--------------------

“You’re on a roll, Kenma-san.”

Potential buyers swarmed his newest piece.

An overbearing buyer towered over Kenma, “Your paintings have always been popular, but the most recent few have been absolutely adored.” He shuffled closer, “ _Tell me_ , what are you doing different?”

Kenma stumbled backwards into a wall. His voice caught in his throat and anxiety sparked through him.

A familiar figure slid in front of Kenma.

“I’m afraid that’s a secret.” 

The man glared to the side, “I was asking Kenma-san. _Not_ you.”

Kuro cackled, “That’s funny. You see, if people have questions for him, they go through me. And, judging by your obvious lack of personal space, you’re not up to my standards. So, you’ll have to answer to me.”

The man was silent for a moment, obviously offended. Then he stormed off in a flurry of stomping feet.

“Sorry I’m late,” Kuro said. 

Kenma waved him off. That man hadn’t been the worst he’d dealt with. There was once a woman that insisted on hugging Kenma, and oh was that a mistake on her part. Kuro swept in just in time to pull the woman off and save Kenma from the creeping moment of panic.

“I think I scared off potential money,” Kuro grinned crookedly. 

Kenma snickered behind his hand.

“Could that be a laugh I hear?” 

He tried to stifle it as it built from snicker to giggle, and his ears went bright pink. Kenma honest-to-God tried to regain his stoic disposition, but the laugh bubbled out of him.

“It is, huh?” Kuro poked his side and chuckled.

Kenma shoved himself under Kuro’s arm.

\--------------------

Kuro wiped the floor; Kenma curled up in the corner.

After cleaning the mess, he crouched in front of Kenma, “I’m not mad at you.”

Kenma clenched his eyes shut.

“But I want to know. Why?”

He squeezed his fists.

“Kenma, why did you destroy the painting?”

He shook his head frantically.

“Kenma.”

Kenma shoved his emotions down, adding to his overstuffed baggage. Some days he couldn’t take and the frustration slipped. He wouldn’t trouble Kuro more than he already had. 

He had to say something, though. 

“I didn’t think you’d like it.”

It was only a half-truth. His chest panged with guilt when Kuro believed it.

“Why would you think that?”

Kenma’s shoulders shook.

“I always like your paintings. Why wouldn’t I like this one?”

He clenched his jaw.

“Kenma, I’m trying. Would you at least act like I help?”

A familiar sting rose behind Kenma’s eyes; it wasn’t long before warm tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Shit,” Kuro dug his palms against his eyes, “ _Kenma_ , I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled—”

He fell silent when Kenma grabbed his shoulders with delicate, pigment-stained fingers.

Kuro’s face was wrought with exhaustion, “This is about more than the painting, isn’t it?”

Kenma nodded.

\--------------------

The two lay on the floor, silhouetted by morning light and bridged together by a shared music player. Kenma hummed along to the tune.

“I feel like I’m losing you.”

Kenma stopped; he rolled over to face Kuro. Kuro stared at the ceiling with glazed-over eyes.

“To your art, I mean. I feel like every one of your paintings takes a part of you with it.”

Kuro waited for a response. He sighed, closed his eyes, and paused the song.

“Kenma?”.

“I’m not going to stop painting.” 

Kenma’s gaze bore into Kuro’s temple. 

“That’s not what I’m asking for,” Kuro rolled to face Kenma. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

\--------------------

Fists banged on Kenma’s door. Kuro’s voice followed, “Kenma, open up.”

He bolted to the bathroom to grab more tissues; the one held to his nose had soaked through. 

Kuro called again from outside the apartment, “Unlock the door, Kenma.”

Kenma reviewed the canvas, it looked like enough. He unlocked the front door before scurrying back to the bathroom.

The door clicked open and closed, and when it sounded like Kuro had stepped into the living room, he heard a strangled gasp.

“Kenma? Kenma, where are you?”

Frantic steps could be heard around the apartment.

When Kuro saw Kenma through the doorway, he froze. Took in the sight of Kenma perched on the counter, towel pressed to his nose. The downy fabric spotted with red.

“Thank God,” Kuro choked as he fell before Kenma.

He sat in a piled heap in front of the sink. Kenma felt relief quiver off Kuro in waves. He felt odd, not knowing why Kuro was in this state. He tapped Kuro with his foot to catch his attention.

Kuro peered up with hooded eyes as he stood on his knees, scooted to the front of the counter, latched his arms around Kenma’s waist and buried his face in his side.

“Kuro,” Kenma tried to push him away, “you’ll get nose blood on you.”

“Your door was locked and you wouldn’t answer and I–– _I was so scared, Kenma._ ”

His shoulders trembled; Kenma cradled the back of his head. 

Silence lingered for a bit. Every few minutes Kenma shifted the spot of towel pressed against his nose, and each time he noticed less and less blood. Eventually, it ceased and he pushed the towel to the side.

Kuro pressed himself closer, “I thought you left me. I saw the canvas and all the blood and I thought…”

He sniffled and Kenma’s shirt felt damp.

\--------------------

“Where did he come up with this one? It’s…um… _interesting_.”

Kuro cackled as he patted Kenma’s head, “He had a nosebleed.”

The woman covered her mouth, excused herself, and hurried away as fast as she could without looking flat out rude. 

“I guess it’s not her cup of tea,” Kuroo nudged Kenma’s side. “But, hey, it’s pretty damn creative.”

The corners of Kenma’s mouth upturned.

“I like it at least. Plus, you actually seem happy with this one.”

Kenma spoke quietly, “I am.”

\--------------------

“I don’t understand. You made so much progress––you were opening up again,” Kuro tugged at his hair. “You looked _happy_. Tell me, was it all an act?”

Kenma sat amidst the spilled paint and torn canvasses.

“...I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Kenma, my God. I can handle the depression. I can handle you closing off. But I can’t handle the lies and fake smiles. You feigning happiness for my sake hurts more than all that other shit.”

Before Kenma could even say a word, Kuro stormed out. The front door slammed behind him.

“Did I hurt you?” Kenma spoke to the empty air, left alone in his ruin.

His mind switched to autopilot. He drifted to bed and crawled under the covers. With the light of day out of sight he could almost keep it out of mind and pretend today never happened. He was safe here, under his personal fortress of linen. Outside the world continued moving, but Kenma simply stepped to the side to wait it out.

\--------------------

A searing strip of light shook Kenma from the daze after what seemed like years of darkness.

“Kenma?”

His eyes took a moment to adjust and he blinked away the tears. Slowly a familiar face burned into his vision. Kuro looked like he was trying to be strong, but Kenma saw the fear underneath it all.

“Kenma, can I sit?” Kuro gestured to a spot on the bed next to Kenma.

Kenma didn’t trust himself to respond. His silence was taken as consent, and the bed shifted with Kuro’s added weight.

“I don’t know what to say,” Kuro slumped against the headboard. “I don’t know how I could put enough feeling into the words ‘I’m sorry.’ I’m supposed to be your stability, Kenma, but I’m no good at it. I took my frustrations out on you. I don’t deserve you.”

Wasn’t it the other way around? Kenma hurt Kuro and Kuro had every right to take it out on him. It was all so backwards, all Kenma could process at the moment was Kuro’s guilt-stricken face. He crawled up to Kuro and outstretched his arms.

Kuro dove into the invitation, sweeping Kenma into a crushing embrace.

“I’m so sorry.” Kuro’s voice cracked.

Kenma shook his head.

“What is it?”

“I hurt you,” Kenma said brokenly. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Kuro cooed, “you’ve never hurt me. I don’t think you ever will.”

Kuro guided Kenma’s head to his chest and rested his chin on top of the matted mess of hair, “You were in bed for three days.” It wasn’t a question.

Kenma tensed.

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up.”

\--------------------

Showers between Kenma and Kuro were not what you would expect. Yes, intimate, but in a different way. 

These weren’t an average day occurrence for the two; they were saved for special times. And today was that. 

The warm stream of water plastered Kuro’s hair to his head while he massaged shampoo into Kenma’s. Kenma closed his eyes and leaned back into Kuro’s touch.

For them, a simple shower said a lot more than words. So when rough times called for communication or connection, they showered. Expressed their support and loyalty through massaged scalps and lazy hugs under shower steam. 

And it worked. Their problems washed down the drain alongside bubbles and the day’s grime. 

\--------------------

“You sure about this?”

Kenma’s mouth set in a determined line.

Kuro led him out to the sidewalk, and Kenma tensed as they entered the flood of people. He grabbed for Kuro’s hand.

Kuro squeezed back, “You can do this.”

Kenma trudged forward. Weaving them through the crowd with heavy breaths and clammy fingers.

“Where are we going, Kenma?”

He picked up the pace. It was just another five minutes and they’d be there. He could make it for just a little bit longer.

“I’m taking that as the cue for a surprise,” an eager smile shone on Kuro’s face.

A little less than five minutes later they stood in front of a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop.

“Lattes. My treat.”

“How did you know?” Kuro gawked.

“You mentioned them making the best lattes in all of Tokyo once,” Kenma led them to a table in the emptiest corner.

Kuro plopped into the cushioned seat, “Well, yeah. But that was years ago. I can’t believe you remembered that.” He stood up, stretching, “I’ll go order the lattes.”

“Wait, Kuro,” Kenma tugged at the hood of Kuro’s jacket. “I said they were my treat.”

He guided Kuro back down and anxiously approached the front counter. The entire period it took to order, pay, and have the drinks made was four minutes and six seconds. Kenma knew because he needed something to focus on other than the pounding in his chest or fluttering in his nerves.

After four minutes and eleven seconds, Kenma returned to Kuro with a latte in each hand.

“Kenma, I’m so––”

“Don’t say something embarrassing,” Kenma cut him off.

\--------------------

Instead of the back corner, Kenma and Kuro stood alongside the new piece. Ever since the doors had opened, the room hadn’t ceased to fill with lively comments. Kenma offered stiff nods to passing hello’s and a smile manifested in his eyes.

Kuro nudged Kenma’s arm, “You can’t understand how proud I am of you.”

Kenma glanced back at the canvas; it churned with life.

_“Thank you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate any constructive criticism. If you've read both, which did you like better? I'd like to know what works what doesn't. 
> 
> Thanks, Jax


End file.
